


Days Like That

by talia_ae



Category: Chuck (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Parks and Recreation, The IT Crowd
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talia_ae/pseuds/talia_ae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning, unluckily for him, Roy gets several strange phone calls, including one from a wizard, one from a bored administrative assistant, and one from a major player in a US government agency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Like That

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to quick_ly (over at LJ)!

"Hello, IT, have you tried turning it off and on again?"

Roy's having an absolutely _miserable_ day, starting with waking up in a strange bedroom that looked an awful lot like Jen's (which he concluded by the fact that she was lying next to him dressed in his football jersey from that time they hung out with real men and fuzzy bunny slippers), thought they probably didn't do anything interesting because he was fully clothed down to his shoes, but he did have an absolutely roaring hangover and Moss was nowhere in sight and now people kept _calling_ him.  Persistent people.  People who were not satisfied by simply rebooting their computer.

Bloody _people_.  And Jen was off getting a spa treatment because of Aunt Irma (he does not want to deal with that again, thankyouverymuch, there will be no more t-shirts made of him dressed as a lady) and Moss had a Krav Maga lesson.  He's not even sure why Moss needs to learn Israeli cooking, especially after what had happened with the German.

"Yeah, I have, and I can tell that's that's not doing anything to the computer no matter how much I wave my wand-- er, I mean, turn it off.  And on again.  Reboot the window program."

"Reboot the window program?"  Roy blinks at the phone.  That one's new.  Not even _Jen_ has said anything like that to him, and she made a phone call without noticing that the phone wasn't plugged in, Moss said.  

"So I can get to my internet owls.  I mean my internet mail."  If Roy strains, he can hear a feminine voice in the background correcting the very confused man.  "Dammit, Hermione!  I'm not yelling- look, this bloke knows what I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid I don't, sir."  Roy's trying to be polite.  That had been Jen's thing last week, proper phone manners, the sort your mum taught you when you were talking to strangers and telemarketers.  "In fact, do you even _work_ for Reynholm Industries?"

"No, what's that?  Do they do something important?  Cause I called this number because it was the IT help number that came on the manual with the computer.  On the fellytone."

"The _fellytone_?"  This guy can't be for real.  Also, Roy's going to ignore the bit about his number apparently being the general computer help number for a significant amount of people.  Phones can always be hung up down here in the basement.

"Yeah, the fellytone.  The thing I'm talking on."

"What's your name, sir?"

"Ron Weasley," the weirdo says, "and I need to access my electronic owls-- Merlin's bollocks, my _email_."

Going to be one of those days.

-

The next weird call (well, weirder than "my computer sort of exploded; Catherine on the fourth floor is death to hard drives) comes about twenty minutes later, once Ron Weasley's wife had gotten on the phone and explained that a, her husband was _not_ insane, b, that yes, they had rebooted the system and checked that all cables were plugged in and c, that her husband did _not_ have an owl fetish, he'd been able to help them figure out that it was something with proxies.  Anyways, the next weird call.

"Hallo, IT, have you--"

"Are you interested in participating in a survey?"  There's a bored voice on the end of the phone, but it's a bored _female_ voice and so Roy perks up a bit.

"Uh, suuuure, what are you surveying?"

"I'm April Ludgate and I'm calling from the Pawnee Department of Parks and Recreation."

"The what now?"

"Pawnee, as in Pawnee, Indiana.."

"I'm sorry?"  Roy blinks a little.  Surveys are one thing, but he's not so sure about surveys from made-up places.

"Like, the United States of _America_?  It's a pretty big country.  Kind of hard to miss on a map, you know."

"Ohhh, okay.  I'd love to do your survey."

"Awesome," April Ludgate says, and he's pretty sure that she means that, like, ironically, but  in the background, he can hear an almost hyperbolically cheerful male voice say _great positivity, April!  Way to talk on that phone!  You are_ excellent _at giving surveys_!

"So, what's the question?"

"Are you a resident of Pawnee, Indiana?"

Roy scratches his head.  "No, I'm not."

"Whatever.  How do you feel about there being a Sweetums ice cream stand placed 24/7 in Ramsett Park?"

"Erm, that sounds lovely?  I mean, I don't know exactly what Sweetums is, or where Ramsett Park is-- though we've lots of nice parks in London, I've even been to a few when my coworker Jen thought I needed some 'fresh air', so I suppose that I support it?  Ice cream and parks are a good combination, I like eating ice cream and walking around thinking about things."

"Thank you for your time," April says robotically, and hangs up.

-

The phone rings three times in a row before Roy picks it up.  "Hello, IT, have you tried--"

"Is this the workplace of Maurice Moss?"  The voice is very official sounding, a man's voice.  A _dangerous_ man's voice.  Roy wonders if maybe it's James Bond.

"Yep, but he's out right now, so I suppose I can take a message--" not that that's his job, anyways, doesn't anyone have some actual _computers_ he can fix?

"This is Colonel John Casey from the NSA.  Tell Mr. Moss that he needs to return my call immediately."

"I'm sorry, the NSA?"  Roy fiddles with a pencil.  "That's like, a government agency, innit?"

"None of this concerns you, Mr. Trenneman." Colonel Casey says-- and how does this strange American man know his name?  "Your colleague is merely doing his job.  Please pass my message on to Mr. Moss.  Good day to you."  There's a click, and then he hangs up.

Roy stares.

Maybe he'll go join Jen at the spa and get himself a nice relaxing facial, one of those things where they put the cucumber slices over your eyes and put mud on your face to reduce the size of your pores.  No lunatics will be able to call him _there_.


End file.
